


A Series Of Different Propositions

by Not_You



Series: She Who Must Be Obeyed (And Other Stuff) [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Paint, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Kink Negotiation, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn Watching, Sex Work, Workplace Relationship, porn industry, porn utopia (at SHIELD), sex work that makes people feel bad but it's the red room and you know how they are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: “Clint gave me a place to stay, and Nick helped me find a different gig.”In the beginning, Natasha was alone.  This is the tale of how she came to work for SHIELD and acquired the first of her harem.





	1. Chapter 1

At the bus station James looks at her like he's trying to memorize her, and Natasha does her best to ignore the stinging in her eyes and the lump in her throat. She's not going to give him her number and he can't stay, he has an actual life to get back to. Hell, this was his first time doing sex work, good as he is at it. He's enough of an actor that he'll probably even look like he's having a good time in the Red Room's finished film, not barely keeping his erection and crying on the first night. He needs to go and forget all of this.

"You sure you're all right?" she asks, and he shrugs.

"As all right as I need to be." 

Natasha has the feeling that someone very beloved is waiting back home for James's money, so she just smiles at him, rising on tiptoe to kiss him one last time. "In that case," she murmurs, "don't miss your bus."

James nods, sort of helplessly pets her hair, and then scampers off just in time. She's going to miss him, and not just how much he likes being choked. Still, before the future must come the present, and in the present she's hungry and has a wad of Red Room cash in her pocket that won't pay her rent anyway. There's a diner near the station, and she sits in a sticky green vinyl booth to peruse the menu, black coffee ordered before she even glances at it.

She's debating between an omelet and a club sandwich, since both are available twenty-four hours a day, when a man approaches the booth. He's tall and sort of piratical looking, with an eye patch and some ferocious scarring extending out from it. He's wrapped in a black leather trench coat and has that bald and beard thing going on that black men always pull off so much better than other types. There's a kind of daddyish vibe to him, and he's carrying a cup of coffee and regarding her with his one dark eye, his gaze intent without avarice.

"May I join you for a minute?" he asks quietly.

"If you have something to say," Natasha says, and he slides into the other seat, unsmiling but not unfriendly.

"I do, and it shouldn't take long." She just waits for him to continue, and he does. "What's a real performer like you doing with the Red Room?" he asks, and she shrugs.

"It pays the bills." Barely, and she carefully does not grimace as her imminent eviction flickers across her mind. The man seems to see it anyway, but he doesn't look smug or hungry with the knowledge. Natasha has had men offer to keep her before, but this feels different, so she doesn't tell this one to get the fuck away from her table. Yet.

"Nick Fury," he says, and isn't _that_ a porno name, "I'm with SHIELD Productions," he says, and this whole approach is finally starting to make sense. "We were hoping we could get you for some photos."

"Why me?" Natasha asks, taking a sip of her coffee. "In particular." She needs a job, but it's obvious that she's past the age where anyone will go easy on her.

Before he can answer, the waiter comes back to take Natasha's order. She gets the club sandwich after all, since diner eggs are so often horrible, and by the time that's over, the man has pulled up some relevant information on his phone. "We've seen most of your films," he says, "and we think you'd help us move a lot of bondage gear and fetish wear. You could do more than the catalog stuff, but we figured that was our best first offer."

"And why is that?" Natasha murmurs, studying him over the rim of her cup.

"Because you've got presence. And because I've seen _Schoolgirl From Hell_ and it seems like you're genuinely happy to call the shots. We like that. Anyone can stand around looking sexy and menacing and brandishing a crop, but we want someone who means it."

 _Schoolgirl_ had been a fun project. Cheap, tacky bondage equipment and a shitty pink flogger that had broken across a costar's ass, but still a fun project, and one of the handful of occasions that Natasha had gotten to do something for work that was even a bit close to what she enjoys on her own time. The thought of more and with better equipment is tempting, but she doesn't know much about SHIELD, so she stays noncommittal as Nick shows her some photos. They are very beautiful, even the plain catalog shots only there to sell latex bodysuits and impossible boots, and some of them actually are art prints. 

"It's all a little self-consciously upscale," Natasha says, "but I'll think about it."

"We do have a hardcore division. You can watch the samples on your own time," he says, and pulls out two business cards, one in his own name and one with contact information for Phil Coulson, the head of SHIELD. This could be one hell of a break, and Natasha thanks him, doing her best to be sincere without sounding too eager. She gets it pitched about right, and Nick just nods, and then gets up.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rushman," he says, and he must know that's not her real name, but he says it like it is and she kind of loves him for it.

"Likewise," she says, and means it.

Natasha lingers over her breakfast for a long, long time. She isn't exactly happy about being evicted, but her current apartment depresses her, and she spends as little time there as possible. It's far better to be here, looking through SHIELD's pinup catalog on her phone. The pictures really are gorgeous, and she wonders what the hardcore is like.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha spends some time at the library and in the park, but at last her curiosity overcomes her distaste at her apartment, and she goes to what passes for home that afternoon to find an eviction notice on her door. She pulls it off and crumples it up, letting the door slam behind her and hanging up her jacket and looking around the dingy studio to see a new leak in the ceiling. She snorts, not even willing to deal with that right now since it's only dripping onto the tile by the kitchen sink, and considers her window.

The window looks out at a blank wall, but drawing the shade cuts off the only source of natural light. She decides that today the lack of light is more depressing than the view, and goes to the pathetic little kitchenette with its leaky fixtures to make herself some adult chocolate milk with shoplifted ingredients before she settles onto the disgusting couch, its stained and horribly green fake leather decently covered with a sheet. 

She opens her laptop and plugs in the urls from the two cards, and then turns Nick's card over so the premium sample codes he wrote on the back for her will be readily available. First, she just examines the entire website. They use a lot of black, but the graphics are elegant, and what colors there are are well-chosen. There are some featured pin-ups on the front page, and she takes a moment to admire the man in them, because he is exquisite. 

His face is imperfect enough to have a lot of character, and his near-blonde hair is cropped close, looking like the fur of a big cat. The resemblance continues in his sleek musculature. It's not the typical look of a guy who lifts, but more of one who fights, which Natasha has always preferred. He's bound in purple rope in various complicated shibari forms, and in some he looks weightless, like he's flying. In a few he kneels on the floor and gazes up at the camera, and in all of them he's hard and flushed a delicate pink. She wonders if the shy and hungry look in his eyes is for someone off-camera or just for some dream dom. Either way, it's gorgeous.

Natasha clicks around, and finds herself more and more impressed with the sheer scope and quality of the enterprise. They've only been around for a few years, but they offer written erotica, hardcore videos with and without story, pinups, and such a gorgeous catalog of high-quality fetish wear and kink equipment that most of it is also pinup-worthy. This is so far from the usual crap that she would be proud to model it, and some of it is so beautiful that she aches to own it.

When she finally gets around to entering the promotional codes, she chooses one at random and is very glad that she did. The performers apparently go by Nocturne and Puma. A beautiful woman with rich brown skin and long white braids is signing dirty (complete with subtitles) to an enormous man in cat ears and a tail, so she must be Nocturne because he has to be Puma. She calls him her darling pet, and makes him roll over and meow on command. He is very obedient, and despite her perfect breasts dangling in his face, he doesn't touch until she says he may.

Then he's on her in an instant, pinning her to a beautiful bed nothing like the usual hotel crap, and slamming into her with no preamble. He goes so easily that Natasha knows Nocturne isn't just lubed up, she's actually relaxed. She screams silently and claws at the man's back as he growls. Being an industry veteran, Natasha is intimately familiar with fake orgasms, and while she has seen it done with consummate skill, she still always knows the difference. Not only is this silent, beautiful convulsion utterly real, but the camera loves it, lingering on Nocturne's shuddering body, her heaving breasts, her flawless skin. Natasha bites her lip, wetter than any professionally produced porn has made her in quite some time. 

Onscreen, Puma makes a deep, happy purring noise, licking Nocturne's face and then pulling out, the camera lingering on the slow slide of his massive cock. Nocturne pants and then grins, rolling onto her belly and then rising onto her knees, legs spread and chest pressed to the mattress. Puma whimpers, and covers her again, his huge hands reaching around to grope her breasts as he fucks her slowly at first and then faster and faster and then the sample cuts off. Natasha lets out breath she didn't know she was holding, and then laughs at herself.

All the other samples are just as good, and show a very pleasing variety of races, body types, and gender presentation. SHIELD seems like they make porn she could be proud of, and by the time she has to stop to throw together some kind of dinner, she knows that she's at least going to give Phil Coulson a call.

The next morning, Natasha packs the things that matter the most to her so she can get them out of here before the crooked land manager can illegally lock her out, and then gives Phil Coulson that call. She gets a secretary, but the woman puts her straight through to Mr. Coulson, who sounds genuinely pleased to hear from her.

"I really do admire your work, Ms. Rushman," he says. "The real question for me is simply when are you available for an interview?"

Natasha looks around the apartment, which always looks even worse in what little morning light it gets. "I'm not doing anything today," she says, and he passes her back to his secretary, with directions to pencil her in for the afternoon. After she hangs up, Natasha groans, realizing that she has no idea what to wear.


	3. Chapter 3

The classic little black dress comes to Natasha's rescue, along with a blazer and the right shoes. A last check in the mirror assures her that she looks professional but also hot enough for porn, which is probably the right look. Her blood-red lipstick is staying in place, and that's a good sign. She fixes her stockings and then clicks out the door in the little high-heeled black ankle boots that make her ass look even more fantastic than usual. She has to do a lot of deep breathing as she makes her way to Coulson's office, because this could be her big break and she can't stop thinking about James, separate anxieties twining around each other like snakes.

At least they have their own building and aren't based out of some sleazy strip mall. The lobby is nice, and the receptionist is friendly. Her name-tag says MARIA, and Maria is a tall brunette with one of those sculpted, androgynous faces that's all golden age of Hollywood. Her smile reaches her eyes, and she directs Natasha back to Coulson's office. There might still be a casting couch in there, but so far things look fairly clean.

Coulson himself turns out to an unobtrusive, completely medium balding man, which is honestly a strike against because it's always the quiet ones. He does stand in the presence of a lady, though, and waits for her to extend her hand first. This polite, he'll either be good to work with or the kind of guy who thinks shit-eating is mainstream content. He introduces himself and doesn't sit down again until she does.

"I'm pleased to meet you," he says, and goes on to say the same thing that Nick had, that he has seen her work and feels like she could do better. Natasha is pretty sure he's right, but tries to maintain a becoming humility

Phil ends up coming on like some kind of porn visionary, but a very friendly and respectful one. His terms are excellent, and he is perfectly content starting her out in those artsy stills. In fact, he says that that had been his first thought for her, which works out beautifully since she had been meaning to take a break from hardcore even _before_ having to work with those pricks from the Red Room. 

Phil goes on to ask her a lot of questions about her own sexuality, but it actually does feel professional. SHIELD is apparently based on using its performers' actual kinks, a kind of pornographic method acting, and they have been looking for a woman like Natasha. They also need more catalog models, and Natasha will be happy to wear any ludicrous fetish confection at the proposed pay grade.

Natasha has almost nothing to lose and this actually seems like a good gig, so she's willing to close with it today. Phil carefully takes down her measurements and tells her that he's very happy to have her aboard. There's a generous advance involved, and Natasha carefully tucks the check into her purse as she thanks Phil. She tries not to sound wary and hard-edged, but the slightly sad smile he gives her probably means that she didn't manage it. He walks her out to the lobby, and she's almost as touched as she is amused to see his obvious crush on Maria.

Back in her depressing apartment, Natasha doesn't feel as depressed as usual. Her lease is nearly up, and she can pack her things with the knowledge that even if all of this falls through, there's enough left of the advance to pay for safe storage for a little while, at least. Not that she would need much space. Possessions have a way of falling off during as many moves as Natasha has had to make.

A few hours later, she gets a call from Phil, to let her know that she'll be doing some art shots tomorrow morning. With Clint, and isn't that a thought. Natasha tries to tamp down on the anticipation, because it's entirely possible that Clint is a complete asshole, but she can't deny that the idea of having him at her feet is a compelling one.

She goes to sleep covered in an all-night mask, and wakes early to peel it off and make sure that it has done its job properly. It's a Japanese product that she really can't afford except for how perfect it makes her skin look. She wears the skirt that matches yesterday's blazer and a forest-green camisole, not that it really matters much. She'll be changing into god knows what as soon as she arrives, and she hopes that it's nothing too silly. At least this first shoot is just for the art, not to move any product. SHIELD seems to be pretty tasteful in general, but she's sure they have the sense to realize that they'll probably need to eventually sell inflatable unicorn suits or go broke.

Natasha is expecting to have to do her own makeup and hair, but there are actually stylists here. More importantly, they're stylists with taste. Melinda and Bobbi, hair and makeup respectively. There are also basic manicure supplies, but Natasha has been keeping up her short French tips for years and there's no need to do anything about them now.

There's a gentle knock on the door, and Bobbi calls that everyone is decent, putting a last curl into Natasha's hair. Phil comes in, looking amused and carrying a black garment bag. Clint is just one step behind him, and his blue eyes are bright as he looks at Natasha. It's a curious gaze, but not impertinent, and he lets Phil explain the mess of leather straps Natasha will be wearing before coming forward to introduce himself.

"Hey," he says, offering her his hand. "Clint Barton."

"Natalie Rushman," Natasha says as she takes it, since there's no reason to give up a perfectly good stage name.

"That's so not your real name, is it?" he says, sounding more amused than anything else. His hands are strong and callused, and Natasha is enjoying holding this one, which is probably a good sign. She lets go anyway.

"Same initials," Natasha assures him, and he laughs. While she has to keep still and let Melinda do her lipstick, Clint tells her about his time with the company until he takes her place in the makeup chair. All he needs is foundation and eyeliner, really, but Melinda runs a little product through his hair anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Before Natasha gets into her collection of leather straps, she studies Clint, thinking about their physical chemistry and how to create more. He looks back at her, and seems neither reluctant or way too into it when she asks if she can hug him. 

He just tilts his head in a way that makes her think of a puppy and says, "Okay, sure." 

He reaches for her, and she walks into his arms, pulling him close. He's smaller than he looks, compact and vibrating with energy, and she's pretty sure she likes the way he smells too much for her own good. She smiles, hidden in his shoulder, and rubs his back a little. He shivers a little and then relaxes into her arms, just falling into it in a way that makes her feel honored to be trusted with him. Once she's completely used to the weight and warmth of him and the feel of his breathing, she lets him go so they can both get into their outfits. The garment bag is filled with a complicated mass of black leather straps and O-rings, and Melinda and Bobbi to help her with the last few parts of it. 

As is true in most social situations, the man has much more practical clothing. In this case, all Clint has to worry about is a massive collar. The rest of what will surely be a gorgeous view is obscured by a purple bathrobe that has his name on the back like a prizefighter. Natasha chuckles at it as she gets into her own plain black robe, and Clint smiles over at her like they've been friends for years.

"Ready?" he asks, and Natasha rolls her shoulders a little to satisfy herself that her tits are about where they should be.

"Think so," she says, and thanks Melinda and Bobbi before following Clint out of the room, since he knows where their set is. 

It's one floor up, and just a simple black backdrop and the usual complement of photographers, who seem to be mostly done fussing with their equipment, thank god. Phil is also here with a selection of beautiful whips, chains, and other things on a table beside him, and he beams at them both. "Right on time," he says, and then asks if it's warm enough. Natasha shrugs out of her robe, and nods. Phil looks her over, but it's the right level of interest. Enough of a friendly glow to give her confidence, but nothing avaricious or horse-tradery. She smiles at him, and he smiles back. He gestures for a barely-legal kid to come over and take the robe from her. The kid waits while Clint pulls his robe off as well. Clint is a little shy in his nudity but not actually embarrassed, and it makes Natasha want to eat him alive. She settles for thanking the kid, who grins before skittering away to stash the robes somewhere.

"That's Peter," Phil says, "intern and office mascot. Now," he says, smiling at both of them and opening one hand toward the laden table, "each of you pick something that seems appealing."

"Ladies first," Clint says, and Natasha chuckles. Just about everything here appeals to her, but unsure if she'll actually be hitting Clint and of what he can take if that is the plan, she settles for a nice, butter-soft flogger with wide tails, stroking it as Clint studies her for a moment, and then selects a riding crop.

Phil regards both of their choices with quiet approval, and then explains that he'll be directing them but that they are free to get creative. The start off with Clint on his knees and Natasha stroking the crop like a lover, and soon she has one high-heeled boot planted on his chest as he leans back just enough to accommodate it, his spine making an elegant curve.

"May I?" Natasha asks, just trailing the flogger over his back, after she has removed her foot and Clint is on his knees, his hands on her hips.

He gives her that worshipful gaze that feels entirely too real, and murmurs, "Shit, I'm okay if you really hit me." He chuckles. "Well, if Phil says it's okay."

"There's nothing wrong with a little contact," Phil says, "if the spirit moves you."

The spirit does move Natasha. At first she just strokes Clint a little with the tails. For one shot they stretch out on the ground, the flogger draped over Clint's chest as Natasha gazes across it into the camera. They want possessiveness, and it's entirely too easy to give it. Natasha firmly reminds herself that Clint does not really belong to her and that the finished pictures are supposed to be artistic, not filthy. Well, they'll be a little filthy, given that Clint is rock hard by now, and the sound he can't help making when Natasha hits him across the back is pure porn. He makes the same sound but deeper and a little louder when she bends him over and takes the crop to his perfect ass, and it's embarrassing to want a coworker this much.

The last shot they take is Clint flat on his back, Natasha kneeling over his chest and wrapping one hand around his throat. He tips his head back and looks up at her like nothing else exists, lips parted. The urge to kiss him almost overpowers Natasha, but she keeps a tight grip on herself, staring back down at him. Applause makes them both flinch and blink in surprise, and when she looks up, Phil seems deeply amused. It would irritate her, but there's Clint to take care of. He's on his knees again, shivering, and before Natasha can say a word about it, Peter is wrapping a blanket around Clint's shoulders.

"There's a quiet room over here," Peter tells them, and Natasha follows him, taking Clint's hand.


	5. Chapter 5

The quiet room is small and warm, with rich purple fabric pinned over the ugly drop-tile ceiling. There's a big, low couch and plenty of blankets, as well as big cushions on the floor, a few cupboards, a sink, and a mini-fridge. Clint tugs Natasha straight to the couch, where they curl up together on one end. Peter perches on the opposite arm, and Natasha realizes that he's here to chaperone the new hire. She’s glad, because Clint is a sweetly vulnerable bundle in her arms, and she hates to think of him left alone with some unscrupulous bitch. Natasha hugs him tightly, and he sighs, hiding his face in the crook of her neck.

Peter gets up and goes over to the fridge, coming back with bottled water. Natasha thanks him and opens one for Clint, making sure that he has a good grip on it before opening her own. Clint guzzles half his bottle and then just quietly clings to Natasha while she does her best to rehydrate. She sets her bottle aside and makes him finish his own, petting his hair and telling him what a good boy he is. In Russian, because she's not sure how he would take it if he understood. She can keep from kissing him, but there's no way she can keep from praising him when he has been so good for her. He sighs, completely relaxed against her, and she knows that part of why she's holding him so tightly is that James is gone and she can't take care of him.

This close, she can feel how heavy Clint's collar really is, and she puts one hand on the buckle, starting to undo it before Clint whines and puts his hand over hers. That one needy gesture is going to haunt her wet dreams, and she shivers, making sure the buckle is still neatly fastened and then giving it a reassuring pat before she pulls another blanket over them and puts her arms around Clint again.

After a long, quiet while of just breathing with Clint as his heart slows and the sleepy laxness goes out of his muscles, there's a gentle knock on the door. Peter goes to answer it, accepting their robes from one of the crew, who leaves without a word. Peter drapes the robes over the back of the couch, and smiles down at Clint.

"Got him good, didn't you?" Peter says. "Not that I blame him, I mean, damn."

Clint snickers against Natasha's skin, and she squirms away from the ticklish sensation, smiling. "Sorry, Nat," Clint says, and hugs her again before sitting up and running his hands through his hair, grimacing at the texture of dried gel.

"No reason to be sorry," she says, and kisses his cheek. "I thought it was sweet."

Clint blushes a little and gives her big subby eyes again for a moment before pulling himself together. "You wanna go look at the pictures?" he asks, and Natasha smiles.

"If you're steady," she says, and he nods.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," he says, and hops up from the couch, trading the blanket for his robe. 

Clint takes off his collar at last, and hands it to Peter, who takes it away, presumably to air it out before someone oils the leather. That done, he turns to Natasha and offers her his hand. She takes it and they walk out like that, so bizarrely innocent that the planet seems to shift under Natasha's feet. The crew are adjusting lights and cameras and making sure that the backdrop is secure, and the activity flows around them as Phil displays the raw shots on his tablet. Some of them really are beautiful, and Natasha can't help a smile that feels entirely too soft and genuine.

"I know you're probably ready to get out of all those straps," Phil says at last, and he's certainly not wrong. "Change out and get some lunch. We can start planning the next one afterward."

Natasha hadn't even thought of it, but she is hungry. After making sure of when she's supposed to be back, she goes and lets Melinda and Bobbi peel her out of her leather. They recommend the small Japanese place just up the block as the best value in walking distance, and Clint must agree because he's sitting at the counter when she comes in. He gives her a shy smile, and looks adorably happy when she comes to sit beside him.

The food really is excellent for the price, and while they eat, Clint tells her a bit about himself and actually listens in turn, unlike so many men Natasha has met. He has been with SHIELD almost since the beginning. Still photography is one of his specialties, and the other is testing toys.

"Nocturne does some of the stuff I don't have the equipment for," Clint says, and Natasha smiles.

"Tell her that her sample clip was probably my favorite," she says, and he laughs.

"She's always happy to hear that. Her whole philosophy of porn is pretty interesting, you should ask her about it sometime. Maybe with me around if you don't know ASL, it's so much more effort to write everything down."

Natasha nods, and takes a sip of her green tea. "I'll keep that in mind. Phil said that some people are working with their real-life partners, is she?"

"Yeah," Clint says. "I think it's sweet, and of course they look incredible together. Y'know, that's her real hair? It started going white when she was a kid."

Clint is full of similar information about her new coworkers, and she learns all about how Nick is career military and that he and Phil served together and have been friends for eons, and that Peter is still lying to his Aunt May about where he's working so she needs to not blow it if she ever has to answer Peter's phone for him or something.


	6. Chapter 6

Back at SHIELD, Natasha is pleasantly surprised to see Nick again. He's standing behind Phil at his desk, enveloped in the same beautiful, ludicrous coat. He has both hands wrapped around a coffee cup, and he's looking over Phil's shoulder at whatever is on his laptop.

"I still say that she can probably stand up to Silver, even if she is new," he says as Natasha comes in, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Are we talking about me?" she asks.

"I'm afraid so," Phil says, standing to greet her, "you'll have to pardon us." 

He really is well-trained, and she takes the same chair as before, pleased to accept some coffee of her own from Nick. The little wave of satisfaction that goes over his face at this small act of service makes his entire involvement with his good friend's business venture make more sense.

"Thank you," Natasha says, taking the cup. "And what were you saying about me?"

Nick lets out an embarrassed little cough, but stands his ground. "I was saying that even though Silver can be difficult to work with, I feel like you'd hold your own in a shoot with her."

"Perhaps," Natasha says, and looks to Phil. "What do you think?"

"I think maybe Nick is right," he says, "but she's in Samarkia for another week, so for now, how do you feel about draping yourself all over Nocturne on the bearskin rug we just inherited?"

Natasha smiles. "I've heard worse ideas."

Nocturne has today off, and since it would be a nude shoot, Natasha needs time for the various marks of straps and rings to fade, anyway. Instead, Peter takes her on a comprehensive tour of the place, including the hardcore division during a break in shooting. A freshly showered and sweet-faced blonde twink is sitting on the couch helping a much taller, skinnier guy about the same age put a suite of prosthetic limbs back on, tentacle-shaped ones neatly stacked at the foot of the bed where another intern in rubber gloves is taking them away to clean them, one by one. Natasha can tell that it's the same bed from the samples, but the whole room is decorated differently enough to keep most people from noticing. She likes this evidence of thrift, to say nothing of the sheer creativity of this type of tentacle porn.

"This is Natalie," Peter tells them. "You might end up working with her if you decide to do those femdom pinups."

Now that he has his hands again, the skinny kid gives her one to shake. It's cool and black, with a few yellow embellishments that match the thin streaks in the kid's wild black hair. He's not as pretty as his friend, but he has an interesting face. He grins hugely at her, and there's a slightly off quality to his gaze that Natasha has seen before but can't place.

"Hi," he says, voice scratchy in a way that makes her think of static. "Self is designated Warlock for real not just for porn." He's still shaking her hand, and his partner chuckles, putting his hand over their joined ones.

"Duration, honey," he says, and Warlock lets go, still smiling.

"Sorry, self has difficulty with introductions."

"He really is a sweetheart," his partner says, and shakes Natasha's hand for a very normal amount of time. "I'm Doug, Cypher for porn."

"Selfsoulfriend," Warlock coos, and kisses Doug's cheek before yawning hugely.

Natasha smiles. "I guess we should leave you to recover from the exertion," she says, and Doug smiles.

"It's probably for the best."

There's also a quiet room here, and the boys retreat to it, leaving Natasha to meet the rest of the crew while Peter gets some gloves of his own to help clean the tentacles. Apparently Warlock came with his own collection of fanciful prostheses because he designs them himself. There's a whole series of Warlock and Cypher short films, and Natasha makes a note to herself to look them up.

It's just as well to have a project to distract her when she gets home. Her apartment seems more depressing than ever, probably because another of the hall lights has burnt out. Once she has dinner for one in her tiny oven, she opens up the SHIELD site and finds the films. They really are charming, almost their own porn sitcom. Formulaic, but sweet. Each time Warlock has some new prosthetic or idea for the perversion potential of an old one, Cypher is anywhere from incredulous to appalled, and then of course he fucks Warlock anyway and loves it. The whole series is pretty hot, but Natasha also feels like crying, because there they are, these two freaky weirdos who have found each other in the vastness of all the miserable straight, vanilla world.

Natasha manages to not cry over porn, barely, and for the first time in her life is truly happy to go to work the next day. She wears a long shift-dress over nothing, so there isn't a single mark on her skin. Melinda is deeply appreciative, and tells Natasha so as she dabs her with body makeup as Bobbi digs up two dark palettes.

"Nocturne is more warm than neutral, right?"

"I'd say so," Melinda says, "but you might need to mix those."

Nocturne's real name is Angela, and she's a lovely person. She comes sweeping in with the kind of glamor that her tracksuit can't eradicate, and she beams at Natasha. She can't make a sound, but her face is very expressive, and between her pre-printed cards and the handful of signs Natasha remembers, they communicate quite well. She strips down in seconds, revealing the kind of skin that Bobbi barely has to do any work on. And Melinda is right, it takes both palettes to make the right shade, a gorgeous near-mahogany.

Natasha hugs Nocturne for a while the way she did with Clint. There's not the same swooning sense of belonging, thankfully, Nocturne is just smooth and a little cool to the touch, all resilient softness against Natasha. The set is very simple again, and while sprawling naked on a fur rug is pretty hackneyed, they do a good job with it. Nocturne is very pleasant to touch, and Natasha has a good time curling up with her like they're a pair of friendly cats.


	7. Chapter 7

Natasha spends most of her first week at SHIELD familiarizing herself with the place and doing paperwork. She also has her measurements taken, for wigs as well as clothing, and starts the extremely comprehensive SHIELD safety course. To do what she has done so far there's no requirement other than basic common sense, especially surrounded by competent people with scissors and ice packs, but if she wants to pierce or suspend anyone (and she almost certainly will want to) she needs to prove that she can do it without harming them.

She wonders sometimes if this is what college would have felt like, wandering around between safety sessions to meet friends who are also between things. Clint isn't always there, since a home setting is better for testing toys anyway, but when he is, he always makes time to talk to Natasha. There's a strange... _security_ to Clint. A lot of men are intimidated by her, but Clint just blithely believes that she won't use her powers for evil. It's a little concerning. Someone ought to look after him, if he's going to go around being guileless and sweet. 

When she says so, not in so many words, he laughs. "I trust you because I trust you. It's my call to make." He smiles at her, and in his eyes she can see a lot of healed-over pain. "Besides, were you planning to hurt me?"

Natasha snorts. "I guess you know I'm not," she says, picking a bit of lint off his shirt as an excuse to touch him, "but that's what I would say if I were."

"Yeah," he says, and gives her a brilliant smile. "If."

On the morning of the shoot, Natasha wonders if Clint will be around afterward. She might need some support, if Silver is as difficult as they say. She makes sure to arrive early to see what she can get out of Phil over coffee, and learns that Silver is old money and doesn't actually need the job.

"It shows," Phil says, "and she has naturally platinum blonde hair, so you can imagine the appeal."

Natasha can imagine the appeal, and Silver turns out to be icy perfection. She looks Natasha up and down with eyes that really are almost silver. Her gaze is lingering and insolent, but Natasha meets it steadily. "Good morning, Silver," she says, catching and holding that gaze until Silver has to look away.

Silver won't take a hug when offered, and challenges Natasha to a quick sparring match. She does her best not to look surprised when Natasha takes her up on it. A conference room with the table pushed to one side is enough space, and Melinda stands as referee while Bobbi admonishes them not to bruise each other even if she is going be painting over it.

It's Natasha's turn to be surprised, at how skillful Silver is. She's light, quick, and clearly would be vicious if they didn't both need to stay pretty. They keep their hands open and go lightly, Melinda awarding a point for each half-strength strike until Natasha finally gets Silver pinned to the wall, and she has to concede or make it so neither of them will be working today. She may not need the money but Natasha does, and she's so glad to find the girl reasonable that she hugs her. After a moment of trying and failing to remain aloof, Silver returns it.

After that, Natasha has no trouble with her at all. First both of them have to go through their incredibly elaborate makeup. This may be a catalog shoot, but the product is a good one. Natasha hasn't done much work with body paint, but this stuff feels like it would actually stand up to real fucking. With so much area to cover, there's a temp here, a girl named Cecelia who's willing to spray nude women with paint if it will help pay for medical school. Phil hired her because she has some experience with stage makeup and the steady hands of an aspiring surgeon, and she does a very good job with her share of painting Natasha into an embellished catsuit with a neckline that would be impossible without double-sided tape if it were a real garment. It's mostly red, while Silver is actually silver, painted into one of the hottest gynoids Natasha has ever seen.

During the shoot, Natasha learns that Silver is a bisexual switch who refuses to sub for men. Or most women, as far as Natasha can tell. It's sort of sweet that this prickly creature is so willing to work with her. She doesn't drop for real the way Clint did, but there is a certain softness in those silvery eyes as she lets Natasha move her limbs and press her painted buttons. The whole concept is Natasha exploring her new purchase, and Silver has just the right doll-like articulation and physical trust to make a good robot, propped against Natasha like a machine that isn't fully powered up yet.

There are the usual problems, a few of Silver's stuck-on LEDs catching on Natasha's hair, some smearing, and a camera trying to self-destruct when they need it most, but Natasha can feel that this is going to be a good one. Silver really is exquisite, and she already knows that Phil has a good eye. She looks at the images before taking off her paint, while Silver struts away like she doesn't care how it came out. Silver really does look like a robot, and there's a detached elegance to their better poses. 

Satisfied with that, Natasha goes to scrub off her own paint. She is of course stained pink, but it's lighter than she would have expected for the intensity of the red, and with soap, water, and some olive oil, the whole thing comes off easily. When she steps of the bathroom, she's not at all surprised to see Silver poring over the images, because of course she cares how they came out.


	8. Chapter 8

Natasha keeps working for SHIELD and the other shoe keeps not dropping. It's an excellent fit for her, and enjoying her work environment so much throws her current apartment into high and terrible relief. It really is one of the most soulless places she has ever seen, with grey walls, a drop ceiling, drooping, despair-filled furniture and light fixtures, and a view of a blank wall across an alley. Finding anything else is proving difficult, since she's just now starting to acquire credit. She has savings and could easily make a lot of these deposits, but she's apparently not enough of a financial entity to be trusted.

She's telling Clint about it over a brown bag lunch at SHIELD one day when an odd look ripples across his face. "...So this is maybe awkward," he says, his voice full of badly-concealed and timorous hope, "but my place has two bedrooms and isn't horrible. It would also be a break on the rent for me to have someone else on the lease."

Natasha can't agree sight unseen, and she can't help having definite reservations about the arrangement, but of course she agrees to see the place. "Tomorrow," Clint says, "I need to hide my shame."

"If I'm living with you I'll see it eventually," Natasha says, and he laughs, going pink.

"Yeah, but it's only polite to try to delay it a bit," he says, and she can't really argue with that.

The next day she puts on her street clothes and real shoes after a day of modeling impossible boots, and goes with Clint to see the apartment. Almost anything with running water would be better than Natasha's current situation, but Clint's apartment has a view and doesn't seem begrimed with human misery. The room she would be staying in is just the size she likes, with a good closet and plenty of natural light.

Standing in the spacious living room and looking around at the cozy clutter, Natasha knows that she can't resist the opportunity for a change. She'll need an exit plan in case Clint is a creep after all this, but she's starting to actually believe that he isn't. This is the most dangerous stage, but she has to take her chances. Besides, the room that will be hers has a reasonably sturdy door that locks, with an easily-weaponized shelf above it.

"Well?" Clint asks when she comes out. "What do you think?"

"I think it will be a vast improvement," she says, and Clint beams at her.

It's strange, how easy it is to slide into being Clint's roommate. A large part of it must be the relief of fleeing her rattrap, but it's surprisingly pleasant to come home to or with him more nights than not. Part of it is probably not spending too much time together at work, but most of it is more of that strange ease. They try recipes together and watch terrible children's shows that they missed the first time around. It turns out that those colorful cereals loaded with marshmallows are actually terrible with milk, and Natasha eats them dry as Clint initiates her into the mysteries of Darkwing Duck and Talespin.

"Personal question," Natasha says, one rainy afternoon, "you into ageplay?"

Clint is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, so she's in the perfect position to see his ears turn pink. "What gave me away?" he mumbles around his Ring Pop, and Natasha chuckles.

"Probably the pajamas," she says. Her own preferred loungewear includes pajama bottoms, but Clint is wearing a full set with feet, and combined with what's essentially a candy pacifier, it's pretty suggestive.

"It's not always a sex thing," he says, ready to defend himself, and Natasha chuckles.

"It doesn't bother me. I just wanted you to know that if you have any of the kind of toys that SHIELD _doesn't_ make, I won't judge you for bringing them out."

Nothing comes of that for a while, but the next time bad weather and a day off coincide, she comes shuffling out of her room to find Clint at the kitchen table in the same pajamas, with a bowl of some medically inadvisable cereal for breakfast and a few plastic dinosaurs for company. Natasha chuckles, and rubs his hair on her way to the fridge, since it's too short to ruffle.

"Mornin', kiddo," she says, and he gives her a huge smile.

Natasha makes herself real food for breakfast instead of medically-inadvisable cereal, but she's happy to join Clint in several vicious and bloody dinosaur battles. She hears this is the kind of thing you're supposed to negotiate, but it just feels too natural to question. He doesn't call her Mama or anything, it's more like being a babysitter or an older sister. Either way, it's fun. They play hide-and-seek, have whole dinosaur wars, and end up cuddled on the couch together, wrapped up in the same blanket and watching Animaniacs. Clint is still snickering at all the adult humor that the show got past the radar, but he's also snuggled into Natasha's arms, his head resting on her shoulder very much like a child's would.

"You really are cute like this," she tells him, and he blushes.

"Really?" he whispers.

"Really," she says, and presses a little kiss to the top of his head. He makes a happy little noise in his throat, his breath warm and humid at the hollow of Natasha's throat as he slides into a doze over the next few episodes. Natasha takes advantage of the opportunity to study him. She runs her hand over his hair in each direction in turn, admiring the way it catches the light its various shades of dark gold. Eventually she'll have to shift him or lose feeling in her arm, but for now she just holds him and listens to the rain on the windows.


	9. Chapter 9

The thing is, Natasha has no idea how to have a boyfriend. She likes Clint a lot and wants to take care of him and fuck him senseless and slap him around a little because she hasn't forgotten his reactions to impact during their shoot, but she isn't quite sure how to tell him all this. Especially since things are pretty good now, with the way he trusts her enough to be little around her, and the easy way they share their space. Hell, they even go out, Clint escorting her to everywhere worth going in their neighborhood, nice little ungentrified bars and a fetish club populated by actual goddamn grownups, and the best pho on this side of town.

And of course, when they stay in there's a good chance that Clint will want to be little. He doesn't do it all the time, but when he does, it's with total conviction. He really does trust Natasha, even though he didn't know her real name until it went on the lease. Somehow Clint has decided that she's just the right kind of big sister/babysitter type for him, and the way he snuggles up to her like she would never dream of harming him always makes her throat a bit tight.

It's the fourth or fifth time when Clint calls her Mama, and he claps a hand over his mouth when he does it, blushing up to the roots of his hair. It literally makes her heart hurt to see him so worried about it, and she smiles at him, drawing him close on the safer side. She's making grilled cheese sandwiches for them both, but even as a real child Clint had the sense to know that hot pans are hot, and this way she's in the way of any random grease fires.

"It's okay, sweetheart," she tells him, and Clint sighs, hiding his face in her shoulder.

"Good," he says softly, and wraps his arms around her as she works, moving with her as gracefully as a dancer.

"I like you a lot," Natasha tells him, flipping the sandwiches, "and I'd be very pleased to be your Mama."

"Okay," Clint mumbles, and when the food is done she pulls his chair so close he's almost in her lap, and tenderly cuts up his sandwich for him, feeding him a few morsels as he squirms happily. After that it's time to play with dinosaurs and cars at the same time, a temporal mixup that brings Clint purest joy, and then it's time for cuddles and another viewing of My Neighbor Totoro. It's incredibly soothing, because as Clint has said, it's not so much that swearing or sex feel inappropriate for his performed age as that when little, Clint doesn't want to see anything really unpleasant. This proviso lets out a lot of children's media, to say nothing of Bladerunner, one of his favorite movies in his usual state of mind.

Sometimes Clint likes to spend his whole day like this and be tucked into bed still in the role, but today he's ready to come up by dinner time, and is in fact the one to call in their order for Thai food. Natasha showers while they wait, and is still damp and wrapped in a bathrobe by the time their delivery arrives. She gets out plates while Clint pays, and wonders again just when the hell her life got so much more domestic.

Clint is unusually quiet at the table, and at last Natasha puts her bare foot over his. "Hey," she says softly, and he looks up, blushing.

"Hey," he says. "I was just thinking."

"Oh?" She carefully assembles a bite of curry on rice, waiting for elaboration.

"Well... I guess I wanted to know..." he grimaces. "Okay, so that shoot we did? I wasn't doing any acting, were you?"

"Not a bit." It comes out easily, because she's starting to see what he wants, and delights in it.

He lets out a breath that's almost a real sigh of relief. "Okay. Because I know you _can_ act, at least for that kind of thing."

"I didn't have to when I was with you," she says, and Clint's flush deepens, even as he smiles.

"Okay," he says. "Good." He clears his throat, staring down into his noodles like they contain the answers to the great questions of the universe. "So you remember what I said about the ageplay not always being a sex thing?"

Natasha chuckles, her foot caressing his in what she hopes is an encouraging way. "You want it to be a sex thing with me?"

"At least some of the time, for sure," he says, and risks another glance at her. "I mean, a sex thing with you in general would be great, don't get me wrong."

She laughs. "Clint, I would be delighted to be involved in a sex thing with you _and_ our darling baby boy. Is that all you were so nervous about?"

Clint squirms a little. "Well... Nick and I _also_ have a sex thing and a general being friends and caring about each other thing. It's infrequent these days, but I don't want to give it up."

The image is really quite arresting, and Natasha spends a long moment contemplating it, leaving her foot on Clint's so that he'll know it's not an angry silence. "I'd like to watch, if he doesn't mind," she says at last, and Clint laughs.

"He'd probably get off on it," he says. "He has a crush on you."

"I thought he might," Natasha says, "but it's hard to be sure."

"He plays it pretty close to his vest," Clint says, his tone full of affection, "but I know him."

Natasha smiles, and Clint finally starts eating with real appetite, all that unhappy tension gone from the lines of his body. The part of her that had such a hard time letting go of James feels like it's purring, a happy beast wrapping around this beloved kitten.


End file.
